


Go on and Kiss the Girl

by pixie_rings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Almost Kiss, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9254306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixie_rings/pseuds/pixie_rings
Summary: Five times Shiro and Allura almost kiss...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Breezycheezyart](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Breezycheezyart).



> For [Breezy](http://breezycheezyart.tumblr.com/)'s birthday! She's an amazing artist, a great friend and partner-in-crime and she deserves all the love and appreciation possible.

Sleep is, as usual, painfully elusive.

Luckily, there are plenty of places in the castleship an insomniac can wander without disturbing anyone. The Castle of Lions is vast and sometimes labyrinthine, and Shiro, just to shut his hollering brain up, imagines himself as some sort of futuristic Indiana Jones. The whole ship is certainly old enough to belong in a museum.

He finds somewhere new to while away the time every night, and tonight he's stumbled upon the observation deck. It looks down onto the recreation lounge where the younger Paladins like to spend what little downtime they get, and beyond that is an immense window that looks off into the vast emptiness that is space.

It's still enthralling, but he knows the dangers out there, now. And now that he knows, its allure has become less like something pure and more like a trap.

“Oh!”

Speaking of alluring...

He turns in surprise, and Allura matches his expression. She's wearing her nightgown, clearly as restless as he is: there's no reason for her to be awake otherwise.

“I'm terribly sorry,” she mumbles, and takes a step back, almost a retreat.

“No, no, it's fine.” He finds his smile comes naturally: she chases away the stormclouds of his mind like a brisk, fresh wind. “It's your ship, Princess.”

She responds to his smile, a little shyly, and nervously perches on the edge of the seat near him.

“I hope I'm not interrupting anything,” she says softly, and he can tell she has an idea of why he's so far from his bed.

“Nothing that wouldn't be better off interrupted,” he admits, and sits down next to her. He leaves a respectable distance between them, hands in his lap, but he's still painfully aware of how _close_ she is, how he could reach to the side and touch her. He could tuck her silvery hair back, feel the warmth of her cheek, the softness of her skin... He pushes those thoughts away.

Her light fends off the nightmares, but the cost of that is his heart, it seems.

They are quiet for a moment, and it's companionable, soft, warm, comforting. It's not silence, it's tranquillity. But Shiro also likes the sound of her voice, so he clears his throat.

“Can't sleep, then, Princess?” he asks. Her eyes dart to him, wary for a split second, but then she sighs.

“No.” Her smile is sorrowful, bitter. “All my dreams are of Altea, tonight.”

He nods. “I get that. I mean, it's different for me, I remember things I'd rather forget, or, well... glimpses of them.” His nightmares are hazy, half-remembered dark splinters that were more like smoke than anything else: intangible, and better avoided lest he choke on them.

“I don't want to forget anything about Altea,” Allura says. “Especially since only Coran and I are left. But sometimes I don't _want_ to remember. Remembering just brings... so much pain.” She raises her hand, presses it to her chest as if the pain is physical, and it shows on her face, in the knot of her forehead, the thin line of her lips.

He raises his own hand, using courage he got from God knows where, and places it on her shoulder. She doesn't stiffen, or flinch, but rather relaxes into his touch, and he counts that as a victory in a time which has seen precious few of them.

“I'm here, if you ever need to talk,” he murmurs. She looks at him, and her smile becomes lighter, brighter, grateful, and Shiro is reminded of just how stunning she is. She places her hand, with its delicate fingers and soft palm, on his.

“Likewise, Shiro,” she replies. “Don't feel ashamed to share your burden. You are no less of a leader and no less strong for allowing me to help.”

His breath hitches. Is he really that transparent? Do the Paladins know, as well? Are the shadowy horrors stalking the fences of his mind painted upon his face? As if reading his mind, she squeezes his hand gently.

“I read it in your quintessence,” she explains. “No one can see it but me, don't worry.”

Shiro isn't sure if that's any sort of relief. He looks away, and blinks in surprise when he feels her warm hand on his cheek, gently turning him back to her. He meets her eyes, which glow softly, making her look ethereal. He swallows. Her touch is delicate, but firm, and his cheek burns beautifully with it.

“You're not alone,” she says. “We can support each other, as leaders should.”

Of course. As _leaders_. He lets a mirthless chuckle at his own foolishness escape before he can stop it, and her eyes narrow.

“You find this humorous?” she asks, and there's a hint of danger there. Against all his better judgement, he likes it.

“No, I just...” He rubs the back of his neck, sighs. “It's nothing, Princess.”

She frowns. “Stop being so enigmatic, Shiro. It's very unattractive.”

His eyes widen then, and he turns back to her, certain he's misheard. Her gaze comes from beneath her eyelashes now, and her smile is almost challenging. He prays he's reading this right.

He leans forward, and she flows towards him, like they're a matching pair, his hand curling round her waist, and -

There's a crash, a thud, a gasping, sleepy snort and they both whirl around.

Pidge rolls over and gets on their knees, glasses askew, laptop next to them. There's an air vent next to them, and the grate's fallen off. They look distinctly dishevelled.

“Wha' happened?” they slur, blinking fuzzily at the two of them. The next thing they do is check if their laptop is safe.

Shiro sighs. “You fell asleep in the vent, I assume?” he asks, standing up and heading over with his arms folded. Pidge grins sheepishly.

“I, uh... _might_ have.”

“It's not exactly wise,” Allura admonishes fondly. Pidge adjusts their glasses and finally stands up, scuffing the floor with their foot.

“Sorry,” they mumble. Shiro shakes his head.

“Go to bed,” he says, halfway between an order and advice. Pidge rolls their eyes.

“Fine, _Dad_ ,” they mutter. “Night night, Allura.”

And off they go.

Shiro looks at Allura, who looks back at him.

“I think I'll follow their lead,” she murmurs. “Thank you, Shiro. Goodnight.”

He tries not to feel too soul-crushingly disappointed. It's for the best: fraternisation would only lead to disaster, he's certain.

“Sleep well, Princess,” he replies, and waves after her, watching her pale hair disappear into the dim corridor. He waits a moment, putting himself back together, before heading to his own room. And for the first time in a long while, he gets a half-decent night's sleep.

* * *

It has been an age since she's had the courage to go through the vast array of music files the Castle of Lions harbours, but today she awoke with ghosts of songs in her mind and her heart yearns for them. She overcomes her fear and heads to the music room.

There are a few choice instruments present: her mother's harp she only half-knows how to play herself, and her father's belagasi mandolin. Allura has never been too musical herself, more in-tune with nature and things that grow, but she did love when her parents would play together, love songs and drinking songs and nursery rhymes, familiar things every Altean knew by heart.

She brings up the archive, swallowing down the last dregs of trepidation, and stares at the list. There's at least one piece from every form of music on Altea, traditional pieces, ballads, popular songs, the pounding beats from festivities Allura rarely attended...

She sets the archive to random, and lets the music pool around her, cradle her in its familiarity, its rhythms and pulses and melodies and beats. It's as close to home as she can ever get, now.

She loses track of the time she spends there, the songs scrolling through, merging into one another, some segues dissonant, others natural, but all beautiful and familiar. They are the songs of her people, their voices, their skill, and she refuses to cry, biting back the tears with all the determination she can muster. They would not want their music to make their princess weep.

“Princess?”

She starts, turning around quickly. Shiro his holding up his hands, like he's trying to placate a spooked ryterrek steed.

“I didn't mean to startle you,” he says. She shakes her head, her melancholy melting away at his presence. She doesn't know why, but something about him is like opening a window to a dusty room: he blows away the cobwebs, lets light into the shadowy corners, breathes new life into her. She cannot help but smile at him, even though she is still half in memory.

“Forgive me,” she says, turning off the music, “I was very much distracted.”

“I just... heard music and wondered what was happening.” He looks up at the archive, though she's certain he can't read any of the titles. “Is this all Altean?”

She nods. “Father liked to collect knowledge, and music was part of it. He loved Altea so dearly he felt it was necessary to preserve every aspect of it.” She bites her lip, some odd niggle within wondering whether he had some foresight of what was to come. _Impossible_ , she thinks. “I felt the need for it, today, for some reason.”

“No excuses needed,” Shiro says generously, wandering over to her mother's harp. “This is beautiful.”

“Oh, that's a sharastani harp, from the eastern region of Velhex. My mother's coronation gift from my grandmother.” Allura plucks a string, and from it comes a sweet, rich note, like honey on her ears. “Her playing was magnificent.”

“Can you play?” Shiro asks. Allura snorts.

“I was never very musical,” she admits, running her fingers along familiar dips and curves in dark wood. “I can sing, but that's about it. Making music is a mystery to me.”

That was simply how it was: her mother made music, her father made art, and she made things grow. And when Coran arrived, he made things work.

“Same,” he says, chuckling. “I tried to learn to play the guitar in high school, but I was terrible at it.” He looks at her, and she raises an eyebrow curiously. “How about dancing?”

She's taken aback. “I... learnt to dance. It's an important part of a diplomat's skillset. I was good at that, at least, but I haven't danced in...”

_Ten thousand years_. It's truly been that long, and her voice falters, her hand slipping from the harp.

Shiro's hand comes into her field of vision, held out in invitation. “Then let's fix that,” he says with a smile that lights up the room.

She doesn't hesitate. She takes his hand, summons an appropriate piece – a slow dance, for balls and banquets – and allows him, for once, to take the lead fully.

And for a wonderful, glorious moment, she is whisked away to happier times, to dances that lasted the night with a string of partners desperate for a moment with her, when there was laughter and merriment and Altea was still there, still shining and strong, and her people were exploring the universe. She thinks, though, that she never had a dancing partner as handsome as this one, as charming and sweet and kind as Shiro.

She smiles, and wishes that he could have been there, in Altean finery (black, to match his Lion), twirling her around the room in this strange Earth dance she can easily follow his steps to. So many jealous suitors she'd pay no heed to, so enraptured she’d be with the man in front of her. His hand at her waist, pulling her close, almost too close for propriety, his fingertips teasing down her spine, giving her a frisson of anticipation for what will come later.

There is none of that now, of course, but when she returns to the present, leaving phantoms of times gone by in the past where they belong, he is still there. His hold is affectionate, his smile warm, his step confident, and she finds that she doesn't entirely mind it being just the two them in an empty room with a recording.

They stop, while the music still plays. His eyes burn. Her hands go to his shoulders, his to her waist, and she rises, searching for the touch of his lips that she longs for.

“I _knew_ I could hear music!”

They fly apart, and she feels her ears burn. Of all the people that could interrupt, it had to be Lance, didn't it? She tries not to feel too bitter about it, but her only consolation is the flush on Shiro's cheeks. It's not very satisfying.

“Wow, this is boring,” Lance says. He strides over to the console, squinting at the archive critically.

“Boring?” Allura echoes dangerously.

“Well, yeah! We should play something with a little more...”

He presses a few of the hardlight buttons and brings up something with decidedly more beat. It's never been Allura's favourite genre, but it's hard to resist the rhythm when it pounds through the floor and into her veins.

Lance begins to shake his hips, and she has to laugh at that. Very soon they are joined by Hunk and Pidge, Coran, and even by Keith. Lance attempts to teach Coran a strange move where he ducks his head into the crook of his elbow. Pidge has the worst sense of rhythm imaginable, but they're certainly enjoying themselves, and they drag Shiro into a dancing circle. Allura bursts out laughing at it all.

She is surprised when Hunk takes her hand and pulls her into it, opposite Shiro. She joins in, smiling, and meets Shiro's eyes. While she wishes Lance had stayed away, she finds she can't entirely hate him for it, if only because Shiro's laughter is so joyous it spreads warmth throughout her.

* * *

Shiro really shouldn't be doing this. It feels incredibly unfair and dishonest, but... Oh God, those berries they picked were just _far_ too tempting to be ignored in the kitchen. Shiny, bright red, juicy-looking, and he can still taste the one he tried on-planet once they had made sure they were safe for both human and Altean consumption. They were delicious, and there’s only so much food goo a man can take.

He pauses outside the kitchen, looking around warily for any passers-by, and then slips inside.

He's met with a moan that verges on the orgasmic, and he stops dead, his face burning.

Allura has her eyes closed, an expression of ecstasy on her face. Her fingers are stained with berry juice, and she's licking her lips. On the one hand, Shiro is elated he's caught her being sneaky. On the other... oh, that face and the sound she made are going to haunt his dreams for a hundred nights after this.

He clears his throat. Her eyes fly open and she stares at him, another berry halfway to her mouth. He smirks.

“Caught literally red-handed,” he says. She eyes him in a manner that's far too shrewd for his liking.

“Oh? And _you_ weren't coming here to do exactly the same thing, hm?”

He lets out a loud gasp, hand going to his chest in theatrical outrage. “How _dare_ you make such an accusation? That's _slander_ , Princess!”

She laughs, bright and joyous and it's like music to Shiro's ears. He joins in with his own chuckle and walks over, putting the counter between them, just in case. He wants to be near her, but he's also aware of the dangerously close calls they've had before. His resistance gets lower every time.

“I assure you, Black Paladin, that I do not make accusations lightly,” she teases, sticking her tongue out.

“You've no proof,” Shiro points out, leaning on the counter.

There are four baskets between them, each filled to the brim with the berries on Hunk's orders. He'd made enthusiastic claims of jam-making and pies and tarts and ice cream, and who is Shiro to deny anyone some well-deserved _real_ food? Sweets are hard to come by in space.

“You're here, aren't you?” Allura says, waving another berry in front of him temptingly. She pops it into her mouth, chewing smugly. “They remind me of lumiberries,” she continues wistfully. “The cold northern winds made them sweet and juicy, they were delicious. Of course, juniberry jam was my favourite, but lumiberry came a close second.”

“Lumiberries, huh? To me they're like strawberries. Well... taste-wise, anyway, just without the tart edge.”

“I like things with a tart edge,” Allura muses. “A hint of something sharp makes the sweet part even better.”

If Shiro had been a braver man, he'd meet her eyes and their heat, acknowledge the lilt in her voice that plucks at strings within him that haven't been plucked in over a year. There's a hint of dark, hot possibilities in her words, of skin-to-skin and other sultry things.

“You'd like kiwis, then,” he jokes, cursing his cowardice that masquerades as commitment to the cause. He wants to reciprocate, finish dancing around each other and fall into her arms, but... how can he?

She chuckles, and it's slightly disappointed. “I might, if I knew what they were.”

“They look kind of like eggs... they're brown and hairy on the outside, and soft and bright green on the inside. And really, really sharp.”

Allura's expression of confusion is almost comical, and Shiro has to laugh.

“That's the strangest Earth thing you've explained to me so far,” she says. “Well... apart from the squid. The squid were bizarre.”

“Squid are bizarre to _us_ , and we live on the planet,” Shiro says. Allura giggles. She then picks up another berry, studying it for a moment, then looking at him.

“You haven't had one, yet,” she says. “I know that's what you came for.” There's that hint in her voice again, slight suggestion, and he realises he is at a crossroads: he could follow his heart, or follow his head. Neither path is easy, but one seems more like an uphill struggle than the other.

He follows the one of least resistance.

He lets the corner of his mouth twitch upwards, eyeing the berry between her slim, dark fingers. “Maybe I have more self-control than you give me credit for,” he says, the pitch of his voice lower. A flicker of triumph crosses her pretty face and she smiles.

“Perhaps you need to _indulge_ some more, Shiro,” she says. She slips the berry between her full lips, biting down, licking away the juice, and dear God he's never seen anything so erotic in his entire life. He wants to taste the berry from her lips, her tongue, her fingers...

She plucks another, holds it out, closer to him, and he takes the bait.

The juice is the sweetest thing he's tasted, bursting with flavour on his tongue, but all he can focus on is the warmth of her fingertips against his lips. He presses against them, the faintest of kisses, and her eyes soften, white teeth snagging her bottom lip. He straightens, leans forward, and she mirrors him perfectly, head tilting, eyelids fluttering.

“Time to start cooking!”

Allura leaps back, startled, flushing deeply. Shiro feels his face is in much the same state. Hunk, however, doesn't seem to notice the atmosphere, he merely gives them a surprised smile.

“Oh, hi! Didn't see you guys there!” He tugs on an apron, humming cheerfully. “Want to help me with the pie?”

Allura bites her lip again, shaking her head. “Forgive me, Hunk, I have things I need to attend to.”

“Aw, ok. See you around, Allura!”

Shiro watches her go, taking a deep breath to steady himself and quench the fire inside. She meets his gaze as she goes, and though the disappointment is mutual, there's a promise there, that tells him, in no unclear terms, that she's going to get what she wants eventually.

* * *

Allura supposes that by now it's far too late to renege on her intent, and she has no inclination to do so anyway. She wants Shiro, in so many different, wonderful ways, and by the stars, she's going to have him or die trying. She knows he wants her back, this isn't the first time she's played this game... except it isn't a game, is it? This isn't about satisfying an urge, it's about forming a bond, tightening it, entwining their lives in a way that no one could ever untangle.

When she views the future, a part of her longs for him to be at her side.

However, that future will be hard won, which means she must maintain herself constantly ready for combat, and not just as pilot of the Castle. No, she must keep her hand-to-hand skills sharp as well, and the gladiator bots have become tedious. She memorised their sequences and surpassed their hardest difficulty long ago, and she longs for a _real_ training session, something that can test her limits. Something... alien.

Who better than Shiro?

At first, there is no ulterior motive for her request: she simply wishes to train, to test his limits and hers, make certain they're ready. But then she turns, sees his training gear, and she needs a moment to remember how to breathe again. In all honesty, his everyday attire is tighter, but there is something about the sleeveless, skin-tight training shirt and the low-slung grey trousers that causes her to shiver. And from his look at her, hot and unmistakably hungry, he feels the same way. She suddenly feels pleasantly exposed, and it makes her burn beneath her skin.

She stretches, half to be limber and ready and half to show off her flexibility, and smirks. “Do you think you can keep up with me?”

He's doing the same, though the forms of his stretching are quite different to hers. He grins in reply. “Hell yeah I can. Don't underestimate me, Princess.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” she says demurely, and takes her position in the centre of the training circle.

His stance is also different to hers. While she is still and straight, but ready, his arms closed, legs wide, body low. She forms a diamond with her hands and bows, and he quickly responds to the gesture, making a guilty face as she stifles a giggle.

Then she lunges, covering the distance between them in two bounds, fist aimed at his face. He dodges at the last minute, arm – metal – coming up to intercede. She casts it aside with the flat of her palm, almost casually, and brings her knee up, towards his abdomen. That he actually does block, parrying and losing ground in order to gain it.

He is reactive, and only because she is like water: she flows around him in movements as studied and second nature as dancing, and she muses that this is rather like the time before, in the music room, except she is now the one to lead. He defends well, sturdy, using his weight and mass to his advantage, though he is certainly not stronger than she is. His strategy works well against Galra soldiers and weaker aliens, but for Alteans it seems... primitive. There is no art to his forms, no elegance, all pragmatism, but no viciousness. She likes it, it's new and refreshing and offers her a challenge she hadn't quite expected.

He's no match for her, not yet, anyway, but he has potential. He winds up flat on his back, panting obscenely, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and face flushed with exertion. She stands over him for a moment, barely winded, and allows herself to admire him like that, wrung out and hot and breathless, committing the sight to memory.

“Your stamina's more impressive than I thought,” she says with a twitch of her lips, offering her hand to him. He takes it, but instead of allowing himself to be hoisted to his feet, he heaves, pulling her down.

She falls with a yelp, onto his torso, their faces close enough that she can feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek, his chest still heaving. The sight of his grin sets her face aflame.

“I can assure you that I'm a bit more proficient in... other areas,” he says. His voice is deep, it rumbles through her, electricity along her spine, opening the floodgates to the heat of desire. She parts her legs over him, not low enough to meet anywhere important but holding the promise of it, propping herself up on her hands.

“You'll have to show me,” she purrs, and his responding smirk has her leaning down, their lips so tantalisingly close she can almost taste him...

“Shiro? Are you in here?”

Quickly, almost by instinct, she sits up and pins his arms, eyes wide, trying to maintain some illusion of combat training. Keith is giving them both a quizzical look, arms folded, wearing a slight pout.

“You _said_ we were going to train together,” he says accusingly, like a child whose parent is not giving them their full attention.

Allura swiftly gets to her feet and helps Shiro up, turning away from Keith to feign fixing her hair.

“Ah, sorry, I completely forgot,” Shiro says. “And, to be honest... I'm bushed. Allura kicked my ass six ways to Sunday.” The way he says it makes it sound like he had the time of his life. She turns, smiling sweetly.

“The least I could do,” she says. Keith doesn't look convinced.

“ _Allura_ kicked your ass?” he asks. “You're the best fighter I know, Shiro.”

Allura's eyes narrow, never leaving Keith's face. She's never hated anything more than being underestimated, and she feels a thrill of satisfaction when Keith's gaze drops from hers and he looks slightly perturbed. Shiro seems to sense her distaste, and clears his throat.

“Then maybe you should let Allura demonstrate,” he says easily. “Go easy on him. He's not as tough as he thinks he is.”

Allura smiles at him. “Oh, don't worry! I won't hurt him enough to require a healing pod.”

Keith suddenly looks a great deal more frightened. Resorting to a petty demonstration of force is far beneath her, but... well, it's only once, isn't it? Keith won’t make the same mistake again.

Shiro settles against the side of the training room, legs crossed, chin propped on his hand. When he meets Allura's eye, he winks, and Allura knows he’s going to enjoy what he sees.

* * *

He’s surprised when she comes to find him, face lit up like dawn over the horizon, slightly breathless. She drags him easily along, but he wouldn’t resist anyway. Her elation is contagious, and he laughs.

“Where are you taking me?” he asks. The more… primal part of him suggests that it knows very well where they’re going, but he dismisses it: this isn’t like that. Allura is excited about something, bubbly, giddy like a child. She’s adorable like this, because it’s so rare to see.

“Look!” she announces. She lets go of his hand and throws open a set of double doors.

Shiro’s eyebrows rise and he whistles appreciatively. He’s always been a man that liked to read, and within this room is a quantity of knowledge so vast a hundred lifetimes wouldn’t be enough to consume it all.

She turns on some lamps, which are warmer than the rest of the castleship’s lights, and he can see how the shelves surge upwards vertiginously, touching the ceiling and packed with myriads of books. And real books, at that: paper and glue and string and leather, not sleek tablets or memory chips.

“I forgot this place existed,” she admits, beaming. She heads to the centre of the room, the floor inlaid with a magnificent mosaic of stars and moons and planets, and she twirls, arms thrown out and skirt billowing, hair following like a pale shadow. She laughs. “I missed it!”

Shiro laughs along with her. “It’s magnificent,” he says. He plucks a book from a shelf and is pleased to see that the pages are still intact even after ten thousand years. He can’t read a damn thing, but it doesn’t _matter_. It’s just good to be able to hold a book again, smell the paper and ink, feel the intrinsic warmth in the leather binding.

He turns slightly when he feels her presence close to him, warm against his arm. “What’s that one?” she asks.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I can’t exactly read Altean.” He shows her the cover and she makes a face.

“That one’s tremendously boring,” she says. “It’s a study of the economic policies of my great-grandmother Queen Adhafera. Even if you _could_ read it, you wouldn’t _want_ to.”

She leaves him, and he misses her warmth. He watches her peruse the shelves, nose wrinkled in concentration, and she’s so cute his heart almost physically hurts. It’s amazing how she can go from smoulderingly attractive to heart-meltingly adorable in a heartbeat, but it’s part of her charm. One thing Allura always is is perfect.

“Aha!” She picks out a book and returns to him. “This was one of my favourites!”

“What’s it about?” he asks.

“Oh, it’s about a were-lion who goes on adventures. There’s a whole series!” She giggles embarrassedly. “I always used to pretend to be the main character, when I was little.”

Shiro chuckles. “Hey, I always used to pretend to be a Power Ranger. Don’t be embarrassed. I take it lions are important for Alteans?”

“Well, they’re the symbol of my family, of the planet, of Voltron… we had plenty of wild ones around the Summer Palace. Lions are part of the fabric of Altean culture.” She tilts her head. “Do they have lions on Earth?”

“Yeah. I’ve seen a few in zoos, actually.”

“I’d like to see Earth lions. I wonder how different they are to Altean lions?”

“One way to find out,” Shiro says. She looks at him, appraising, and he knows she heard the unspoken invitation: _when this is over, come back to Earth with me_. She smiles.

“I’d like to,” she says, her voice soft. She steps forward, her hand going to his arm, closing the space between them. He bends to her will, leaning down, ready to fit the two of them together, meet in the middle like he knows they need to. Her lips are so close, her eyes like burning stars…

“Princess, you found the library!”

He pulls back, and she closes her eyes in tight, frowning frustration. But when Coran comes into view, her face smooths into a smile.

“I did!” she says. “It’s still the same as it ever was!”

Coran sighs wistfully. “Three thousand years of accumulated knowledge from seven generations of rulers,” he says. “It used to be in the Winter Palace in Vealea, but then Alfor had it moved to the Castle of Lions…” He wanders over to one of the shelves, touching the spines with a reverence Shiro knows well, when it comes to books in halls of knowledge. But there’s something else there, something sorrowful, and Shiro is reminded that it’s not only Allura who has lost everything, who is in pain and alone in the universe. Coran has nothing else but the castleship and Allura as well.

He turns with another sigh. “Those were better days,” he says. “What’s that you’ve got there, Princess?”

Allura flushes slightly, the tips of her ears turning red, and she shows him. He chuckles.

“I remember reading those to you, even though you’d most definitely already read them alone.”

Allura giggles. “Father kept telling you to stop indulging me… but you did all the voices so well.”

Shiro, all of a sudden, feels like an intruder. This is a moment he does not belong in, a moment between two people who have known each other a long time, people who are like family, reminiscing about things they’ve lost. He wonders if he can leave without disturbing them, but then Coran looks at him, and then at Allura. His expression is shrewd.

“I’d suggest reading it to Shiro,” he says, twirling his moustache, and there’s mischief in his twinkling purple eyes. “But I’m certain there are more… _interesting_ books for the both of you. Third shelf on the right, you can’t miss it!” And he strides from the room, chuckling at Allura’s groan of embarrassment. It takes a moment for her to peek out from between her fingers at him.

Shiro clears his throat. “So, uh… Third shelf on the right, huh?”

She shoves him with an indignant gasp, making him laugh.

* * *

It has been the most hard-won of battles since Zarkon’s central command. The Lions are battered, the castleship bruised, and everyone is exhausted. Allura’s knees are weak, trembling from the shocks of ion cannon blasts against the particle barrier, tired from having to pilot the ship for so long. She cannot collapse yet, though. Not yet.

“Allura, where-?”

She ignores Coran’s question as she leaves the bridge, adrenaline and a sheer, all-powerful need giving strength to her legs and purpose to her stride. She makes her way through the castle’s twists and turns to the Black Lion’s hangar, presses her hand to the lockpad and opens the door.

The Black Lion is a mess. Her eyes are dim, her body littered with dents and scratches, and sparks fly. Allura can feel the Lion’s quintessence, and through it Shiro’s. The Lion recognises her and lowers her head, opening her jaw with a sickening screech of buckled metal. Allura clambers inside, thanking the Lion with a touch of her hand.

Shiro is still in the pilot seat, helmet off, blood trickling down the side of his face from a new cut above his eye.

“Helmet broke,” he says, lifting it up for her to see. The visor has shattered, and there is a discarded, blood-stained shard on the floor by her feet. She ignores it, heads to his side, moving his hair to view the wound better. It’s shallow, but facial wounds always bleed so badly.

“It looks worse than it is,” he confirms. “It stings, but it’s not deep.”

“We still need to get it seen to,” she says. “You don’t need another scar yet.” She tries to sound light and airy, but she can’t manage it.

She can still see the sight from the bridge, the sight of the Black Lion taking the ion blast to the side, spiralling off into space, hitting another Galra battle cruiser, crumpling like a kitten made of lead. It was the most terrifying, nauseating sight since she saw Altea burn. Her hands go to his cheeks, cup them, fingers heedless of the blood when the need to touch him, make sure he is solid and there, is so powerful.

He looks at her. “It can wait,” he says. He reaches up, a hand tucking around the nape of her neck, pulling her down to him.

Finally, _finally_ , their lips meet. It’s soft, a delicate brush, and he pulls back, still looking tentative after all the times they’ve been thwarted when it comes to kissing. She has no time for soft and delicate anymore.

She surges forward, pushing him against the backrest of his seat, practically crawling into his lap in the desperation to get close to him. He splutters, but responds quickly with all the strength and fierceness she needs. His arms wrap around her, holding her exactly how she needs to be held, and hers circle his neck, tugging him closer. One foot rests on the floor, as leverage to push harder against him.

He tastes like metal and blood and static. He stinks of singed material and sweat. None of that matters when his lips mould perfectly to hers, and he allows her tongue to tease its way into his mouth. They only part when they both need to breathe, and she presses her forehead to his, but she doesn’t close her eyes. Not this time, no, she needs to see him, know he’s still there. She hasn’t lost him yet.

“Finally,” he breathes, his fingers weaving into her hair, loosening the bun, messing it beyond quick repair. She kisses his scar, his cheeks, his forehead, nose, eyelids, chin, temples, learning the lines of his face with her lips.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she hisses fiercely. She know why he did it, and she could kill him for it, if she wasn’t so relieved he’s alive. “You fool, you brave, stupid, wonderful fool.”

He laughs, a little rough, and they settle into each other’s embrace, eyes slipping closed. Allura takes one of his hands in hers, and there’s a flicker that joins them together, two different quintessences merging as one, and she is relieved he has come back alive, and that they’ve finally managed to kiss.


End file.
